


universals

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship/Love, M/M, Metaphors, Obliviousness, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sexual Humor, blood types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 16:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: The metaphor fits far too well, and House ponders it as he goes out for dinner with Wilson.





	universals

**Author's Note:**

> for shortfics - universal donor, allbingo - haven't realized how much they love each other yet & 100prompts - compromise.
> 
> based on the dialogue in s4e8 _you don't want to know_.
> 
> enjoy!

“Of course, you’re type AB. Universal recipient. You take from everyone.”

“Of course, you’re type O. Universal donor. No wonder you’re paying three alimonies.”

It’s a nice metaphor, one House doesn’t expect to get right. Wilson looks at him oddly, expecting some story about just how he knew about his blood type, but then he has his epiphany and he has to run out of the room to save the patient’s life. It finally is lupus, but he’s left wondering.

He’s never been one for fate— everything doesn’t happen for a reason, it’s all based on chances and statistical probability— but sometimes it’s like fate is calling him to reconsider its position on it. Of course his best friend, his only friend is a universal donor while he’s a universal recipient.

It’s a compromising position, how he sits at his desk thinking dejectedly about how Wilson could give him blood if he wanted to. If he needed to. He pulls a face at the joke that makes its way onto his brain— then he’d have something of Wilson inside him. Hah, very funny, but he still has to question this. 

Probability is a funny thing. Probabilities is why he’s friends with Wilson now— if he hadn’t gotten arrested and if he hadn’t taken the time to bail him out, he would be even more alone right now. He doesn’t like to think about it, about a world without Wilson. His world without Wilson in it. It’s many shades of gray.

“So,” Wilson asks him as they both get out of the hospital, “how do you know my blood type?”

“I wasn’t lying,” he insists. “I just thought it fit the metaphor. It does, anyway— I take, you give. It is how it is.”

Wilson rolls his eyes and follows him. “If you tested me for anything, you can tell me. It’s not like I’ll be mad. Or surprised.”

“And it’s not like I care if you’ll be mad or surprised,” he tells him. “Up for dinner?”

Wilson doubts. “Sure.”

House slows down a little, mainly so he doesn’t strain himself as Wilson leads him to their typical dinner get-away. He downs a couple of pills as they get there, taking their seats in a four-person table that is very, very empty apart from them. He’s not sure why they’ve never used a two-person table— Wilson wants it to be a little impersonal, he guesses. Like they haven’t been friends for fifteen years or something.

“I was thinking that,” House starts after he gives his order to the waitress, “that you could give me blood if I ever needed it.”

“Don’t count on me for that,” Wilson says dryly.

“How cold.”

Wilson snorts. “Just not my area, donating blood to people.”

“Well, I’d always have something yours inside me after.”

Wilson looks at him and he frowns a little before looking away. He’s blushing, as much as he’d deny it if he told him that.

“Is that what it takes to get you flustered?” House teases, looking at him with a raised brow. “How do women even get you to bed?”

“Stubbornness,” Wilson replies dryly. “From them, of course.”

“That adds up,” he says. “You know, Bonnie told me—”

Wilson makes a face. “Oh God, did she talk about what I’m like in bed?”

He laughs. “Yes, she did! She told me you’re quite a mark. That  _ sex with James is amazing _ .” He mocks her words, even as curious as they make him. It’s just scientific curiosity, of course— is Wilson’s sexual prowess just Bonnie looking at their relationship through rose-tinted glasses, or is he truly a sex god? House may never know.

“Ugh,” Wilson groans. “I’m going to kill her.”

“Oh, but how am I going to get blackmail material then?”

“You don’t need blackmail material for me, House.”

“I’m sure you’ve got oh so many secrets,” he accuses.

“You were a cheerleader in college,” Wilson shoots back, “I can keep you quiet just as much as you can keep me quiet.”

House huffs. “I’ve never understood what’s so bad about us male cheerleaders. We’re drowning in pussy, you know?”

Wilson rolls his eyes, smiling at him fondly. “Perhaps,” he tells him. “But it’s still something that would make the rounds if  _ someone  _ let it out.”

“You’ve bought my silence on all your dirty, dirty secrets,” House says as if he’s got any dirt on Wilson, “A compromise, I suppose.”

“A great compromise.” Wilson looks on as the waiter walks up to them and serves their food. The waiter is an attractive younger man who brushes his arm against Wilson’s as he asks if there’s anything more they need. “Not at all, thank you.”

House gives him a look. “Nope,” he says.

The waiter promptly leaves, not without smiling at Wilson.

“Did I just watch a guy flirt with you?” House says as soon as he’s out of earshot.

Wilson blinks, blush on his cheeks. “I think so.”

“Even the guys want him,” House mutters, rolling his eyes.

Wilson is decently attractive, anyway. He’s got nice brows and nice eyes and nice cheekbones and nice everything, really, and he’s sure that he could get anyone in the world who was into ridiculously kind men who want to placate their partner’s every whim. It’s his charm, even as House doesn’t particularly agree with it.

“Even the guys want you too, I’m sure,” Wilson tells him.

There’s an awkward silence after House doesn’t dignify that with a reply, eating his dinner and pondering about pretty much everything.  Wilson’s particular charm, Wilson being a universal donor, their compromise of sorts. Their friendship of sorts. It’s all complicated in a way, but he enjoys it far too much. He likes being around Wilson as much as Wilson likes being around him.

He straightens up once they get the check. Wilson pays, naturally, perhaps both out of custom and out of a need to take care of people.

“See you tomorrow,” he tells Wilson.

Wilson beams at him. “See you tomorrow, House.”

He can’t help but smile back.


End file.
